Use Your Words
by wildcard-dizzle
Summary: It's not that Santana can't talk dirty. She just can't talk dirty and be in the middle of the sex. Or in the middle of needing the sex. Or while doing anything with sexing, really… whatever, it's never mattered before. Not before Rachel. And her damn mouth.


**Title**: Use Your Words  
><strong>Author<strong>: wildcard-dizzle  
><strong>Pairing(s)<strong>: Pezberry all the way  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None. AU.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: It's not that Santana _can't _talk dirty. She just can't talk dirty _and_ be in the middle of the sex. Or in the middle of needing the sex. Or while doing anything with sexing, really… _whatever_, it's never mattered before. Not before Rachel. And her damn mouth.

* * *

><p>Santana Fucking Lopez is hot as shit, okay?<p>

She was always _pretty_, but even before she had these boobs, she was _hot_. Is. She _is_ hot. She had anyone she wanted, and a few she didn't want. But they wanted her. Because she's hot as shit. She never had to _convince_ someone to get her off–not really. With the right look, or the right caress, she had boys practically jizzing their pants solely because she was talking to them. And Brittany? Even though Santana had no idea where her mind went sometimes, she felt like they had this weird, cosmic soul connection that began and ended in their spanks. All she had to do, really, was say, "You wanna?" and Brittany _knew_. And Brittany was there, pulling her into an empty classroom, or straddling her when Santana was correcting her biology homework (the hippocampus is _not_ the school Monifa the Baby Hippo goes to). Brittany was always ready to go, and she always knew what to do.

Which is why Santana's wracking her brain trying to understand why Rachel is holding out on her. If her sort-of girlfriend (they haven't really discussed labels, but if they're the only ones touching each other, she doesn't give a shit _what _they call themselves) says "_use your words, Santana_" one more fucking time, she's gonna slap the Barbra out of her name.

"My words won't fuck you. My fingers will. Now get. On. Them." Santana reaches for her, but Rachel pulls away before she can grasp her wrist.

"Not until you talk." Rachel's buttoning up her pants before Santana can say anything more. She has that look on her face that Santana despises, but it simultaneously makes her wet. The way she tries to fight a smirk; the way she attempts to lift one eyebrow but both go up and she ends up just looking either surprised or like she's going to sneeze; the way her head tilts to one side. Santana hates that look, especially right now because she wants to be halfway to an orgasm already.

She groans, flopping back onto her bed, covering her eyes with her fists. "But… but, _why_, Rach? You know what I want. You know what I like. I know what you like. Why do I have to narrate when you're _right here_?"

"Communication is key in all relationships, Santana. If we want to make sure we last, we have to be able to talk to each other, about everything. Including what you would like me to do to you or for you, and vice versa." She finishes pulling on her boots before she moves to stand between Santana's legs. Sighing and rolling her eyes, she grabs hold of Santana's hands, fighting against her petulant deadweight to pull her upright. "Now, kiss me because I have to go to rehearsal."

Santana pouts, refusing to pucker her lips, before Rachel gives her a peck and laughs, turning to walk out the door.

"I hate you, by the way," Santana yells to Rachel's back.

She hears the muffled "No, you don't" as the front door closes.

*.*.*

The last week has been Santana's worst week ever. And that includes Hell Week leading up to Nationals under Coach Sylvester's wrath AND the first time she got mono, combined. Those weeks were a fucking all-expense paid vacation to Monaco as far as Santana's concerned. This? This is just torture. Total, sadistic, unadulterated, blue-clit-inducing torture. And it's no picnic for anyone within 20 feet of Santana, either. A horny Santana is an _evil _Santana. And it's all Rachel's fault.

See, one of the big reasons she and Brittany were in a not-relationship for so long before their _actual _relationship was her mouth. And Brittany didn't use it to fucking _talk_, okay? She couldn't stand Rachel in high school mainly because she talked _too much_. So it really shouldn't have surprised Santana that talking really gets Rachel off. It's not that Santana _can't _talk dirty. She just can't talk dirty _and_ be in the middle of getting fucked. Or in the middle of needing to get fucked. Or while doing anything with fucking, really… _whatever_, it's never mattered before. Not before Rachel. And her damn mouth.

She should've known this was going to be a _thing_, ever since that one afternoon a few weeks after they started hooking up.

Living with your fuck buddy/quasi-girlfriend has its perks. But you can't really benefit from those perks if you're never in the same room at the same time. Yeah, Santana had been stoked that Rach got a call-back, and then the part, for Cinderella in the off-Broadway production of _Into the Woods_. Except that it kind of left even less time for sweet lady kisses and the hot, hot sex they were _not_ having, on account of Rachel's actual _job_ and Santana's midterms and gig at the singing diner (it made her feel less pathetic if she thought of it as a gig, okay?).

So, she stripped down to her panties and a tank when she got home from her last exam. Even though it was starting to get really fucking cold outside, the radiator in their apartment is always on the fritz, even now, and it was hot as _balls_ in the apartment that day. She'd even cracked open the window in the living room to try to even it out. She had a brief moment of "it'd be so cool if" plus paranoia, thinking about how the cold air from outside mixing with the hot air in the apartment might create a storm front. The paranoia won, and she closed the window a minute later; the possibility that Rachel would be pissed enough about the soaked furniture and lack of electricity (thanks to the lightning, of course) to hold out on sexy times was just too great of a risk. (She's a huge nerd, and would deny it to her grave that she ever thought such a thing.) She needed a drink. And some _Love & Hip Hop Atlanta_.

There were only reruns on, so she'd started watching _Lost Girl_ on Netflix. That was probably not the smartest choice given her complete lack of sex the previous couple of weeks (especially since she was on the part of the season where Doccubus was way _on_), so when Rachel finally got home from rehearsal, Santana had practically tackled her before she'd even gotten her coat off.

Rachel let out a surprised laugh against Santana's lips and mumbled, "Hi, there," as Santana fought with the stupid buttons on her coat. "Miss me?"

Santana scoffed, because _duh_. She pushed Rachel's coat off (seriously, why was that so difficult?), feeling a sense of satisfaction when it thudded softly on the ground. "Mmm, you smell so good." Santana breathed in traces of the Nirvana White Rachel spritzed herself with that morning mixed with the musky scent of sweat, evidence of her long day. She couldn't wait to be the one to make her sweat.

She kicked the door closed, and pulled Rachel backwards toward the couch, toppling onto it with Rachel landing between her legs with an _oomph_.

"Okay, now I _know_ you must have missed me." Rachel laughed, propping herself up with her hands against the couch armrest on either side of Santana's head. Santana's hands slid onto her hips, her index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans. "I," Rachel started, pausing to place a light kiss on Santana's lips. "...just finished a 10 hour rehearsal and I was sweating profusely during the last half of it."

"Mmm," Santana mused as she kissed the corner of Rachel's mouth, leaning to lick a line from the base of her neck up to her jaw. "You taste good though." She let out a low moan as Rachel rolled her hips against her. "Been thinkin' 'bout you all afternoon. And tallied how many orgasms we're behind on."

Rachel giggled at that, lifting a hand from the couch to trace the bridge of Santana's nose, the outline of her lips, down the column of her neck to the middle of her chest. She dipped her finger beneath the collar of her tank to caress the tops of her breasts, her eyes never leaving Santana's. "Oh, really? And how many is that?"

The combination of her curious, innocent grin and the slow, deliberate rock of her hips made Santana choke out, "Too many. Dunno. Lost track after 32. Lots." Rachel drew smaller and smaller circles on her breast seemingly in search for something. Santana's eyes fluttered shut as Rachel's finger found what it was looking for, and she felt her nipple harden even before Rachel grazed it.

"Mmm, I see." Rachel leaned down to kiss her, Santana's lips parting almost instantly. Santana moaned into Rachel's mouth as soon as their tongues touched. She tightened her grasp on Rachel's belt loops and pulled her closer, lifting her hips to try and get _some_ kind of pressure against her clit. Rachel pulled away slightly. "So tell me..." Rachel placed a soft kiss against Santana's lips. "What exactly have you been thinking about?" she asked against Santana's mouth. The hand that had been playing with her nipple suddenly pinched it.

Santana let out a gasp and her her eyes opened in a flash. It took a couple seconds to register that Rachel had asked her a question. "Huh?"

"I said, what have you been thinking about?" Her palm flattened over the nipple she had played with in an effort to soothe it, massaging it slowly.

"Think? … When? What?" Santana let out a frustrated groan, as Rachel kept up the torturously slow roll of her hips.

Rachel bit her bottom lip and looked like–was she trying not to laugh?! _Bitch_. "You said you had been thinking about me all day. I want to know what you were thinking about exactly."

Santana cleared her throat. "Oh. Stuff."

"Like what?"

"What do you mean, like what? Stuff. Sex stuff. You fucking me stuff. Why are you talking right now?" Santana lifted her leg over the back of the couch and pulled Rachel impossibly closer to her center. "And why the fuck aren't you fucking me?"

The smirk that had been teasing at Rachel's mouth flattened into a hard line, and Santana was afraid she'd fucked up. "What–" her question was cut off when the hand that had been at her chest was suddenly in her panties.

"I want you to tell me, Santana. Is this what you were thinking about?" Santana moaned and just nodded her head, her eyes rolling back as Rachel's fingers stroked up and down her slit. "Tell me."

"Fuck… yes, Rach. Y-yeah." Santana stammered, her hands fisting the fabric at Rachel's hips.

"What else?" Rachel positioned her finger at Santana's entrance, not moving it one damn bit. "_Tell_ me, Santana. Use your words, baby." That damn smirk was back in full force.

Oh, _hell_ no. Santana glared at Rachel, angling her hips upwards since she guessed she was gonna have to fuck _herself_ at that point. "I was _thinking_ about your fingers fucking me while you ride my thigh until you can't talk anymore. But I guess _that's_ not gonna happen."

"Oh, you mean like this?"

And _FINALLY, Jesus Mary J. Blige_. Rachel's fingers didn't stop until Santana wailed like a banshee as she came… twice.

*.*.*

It's been a couple of weeks since that first time Rachel uttered the fucking patronizing little phrase Santana's come to loathe so much. She's been meaning to talk to Rachel about it, but she keeps forgetting on account of the killer orgasms that follow not long after they're spoken. It still annoys the shit out of her, though. Alas, orgasms.

Anyway, Rachel's been dropping (really obvious) hints that she "would like it very, very, _very_ much if you could work on your verbal abilities during our sexual encounters," making sure to specify that it is her _verbal_ rather than _oral_ abilities that could use some improvement. _Damn right. _

Whatever, she's not entirely sure when (or if) Rachel's gonna give up her little pet project to try to get her to be more talkative during sex. Like, _really_. It's not that she isn't _vocal_. She still laughs at how awkward Quinn was the morning after she had crashed on their couch for the first time after she and Rachel had started sleeping together. She just honestly doesn't get why Rachel's doing this to her. Like, okay, so maybe Rachel's super hot when she's trying (and succeeding) to top Santana. And _maybe_ nobody has ever made Santana come that hard, like, ever. She just doesn't understand why Rachel keeps harping on it and can't let it go. It's getting to the point where if she weren't Santana Fucking Lopez it might even give her a complex or some shit. It's not like she's leaving Rachel unsatisfied... right?

Santana's head tilts back against the door as she tries to stifle a groan. Even though they spent the evening with Rachel's lame NYADA friends at that dumb karaoke bar, she had been eye-fucking the shit out of Santana all night with every song she performed (Santana will never admit to getting remotely wet even through her laughter while Rachel sang a rousing rendition of "Afternoon Delight." Rachel's hot when she's blushing AND making fun of herself, okay? Especially when Santana's the only one in on the joke). Rachel's barely-there kisses dotting along her jaw are just making things worse. Other than her lips, and where her hands are resting on Santana's hips, their bodies aren't touching. And Santana just wants to scream.

"Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want." Rachel licks the shell of Santana's ear following her whispered request.

Santana shudders, hissing as she grips Rachel's hips to pull her closer. "Just… yeah." She almost misses the way Rachel licks her lips as her eyes close in anticipation.

"Just… what? What do you want? I won't know unless you tell me." Rachel slides her hands off Santana's hips to the ones gripping her own and gently pries them off of her, pinning them to either side of the other girl's head against the door. "And I won't _do_ anything unless you tell me."

Santana's eyelids flash open, brow furrowed, and she _hopes_ Rachel is fucking with her. "You're joking," she deadpans. "You'd better be fucking joking, Rach. Come _on._" She struggles against Rachel's grip, but the girl is freakishly strong for someone from the lollipop guild (she guesses it's on account of the disproportionately large lollipops).

Rachel just shakes her head slightly. "Nope." She looks thoughtful for a second, narrowing her eyes before she–Santana's gonna _kill _her… after the orgasms, of course. There had _better_ be orgasms–dares to smirk at Santana. "Consider this… an exercise. You talk, I do." She kisses the tip of Santana's nose, which… _bitch_. Then she kisses her cheek. "What." Her jaw. "Do." She licks her earlobe. "You." She nips at the base of her neck where it meets her shoulder. "Want."

Santana growls. "Fuck, Rach. Just… fuck me already. Jesus."

Rachel loosens her grip on one of Santana's wrists, lightly trailing her fingertips down Santana's arm, caressing the side of her breast, her thumb taking a detour to flick across the nipple straining against her top, then down to draw a quick circle on her hip, and finally stopping to play with the hem of her skirt at the inside of her thigh. She licks across Santana's collarbone, up to where her pulse is pounding against her skin, and sucks there–not quite enough to leave a mark, but enough to cause a strangled whimper to escape Santana's lips.

"How?" Rachel breathes against Santana's neck, her finger easing up her thigh achingly slowly. Santana's hips cant toward Rachel's hand at the low husk of her voice, more gravelly now in just the few short seconds since she last spoke. "You talk, I do, remember?" Santana feels Rachel smile against her neck right before she says in sing-song voice, "Don't make me say it."

"Don't you _dare_."

Rachel lifts her head to look right into Santana's eyes. "Use your w–"

"_God_, I hate you right now. Just…" Santana sighs, and leans closer to Rachel until their lips touch as she speaks. "I want you," she grits out, "to get on your knees and lick my pussy." The instant the words are out of her mouth, Rachel's pupils dilate and her lips part. Santana definitely doesn't miss the sexy whimper that tickles her own lips.

Before Santana can whine about Rachel moving her hand away from between her thighs, her own hand is being shoved into Rachel's pants, her fingertips coated in the wetness it finds there.

"Do you feel that?" Rachel keens when Santana gets her shit together and actually starts stroking her. "You did that, just now."

"Fuck" is all Santana can say, and then Rachel is on her knees pulling Santana's thong down her thighs.

She totally gets it now.

*.*.*

After Thanksgiving break, the semester came back to kick Santana's ass. Well, to be perfectly honest, she kicked the semester's ass. Although she and Rachel still didn't see each other much, they both were doin' the damn thing and handling their shit. Santana's professors loved her (even her Poli Sci prof who she openly challenged on the regular in class… especially him); tourist season was in full swing, which meant killer tips at work; Rachel's show was fast approaching opening night, and she was already killing the previews; and she and Rachel officially became girlfriends AKA "best friends who are also kind of maybe in love with each other and do the sex as often as humanly possible." They were kicking ass.

Because of their schedules, they didn't have much time to have as much sex as they (especially Santana) wanted, and Rachel started to cool it on the talking thing. Particularly, on demanding that Santana talk. Santana was just about to declare victory until Rachel upped the ante. And Santana Lopez does not back down from a challenge.

One night, about a week ago, they were getting hot and heavy and Rachel had started again with the talking, teasing Santana. Don't get her wrong, she had started to really love it when Rachel talked during sex. She had quite the mouth on her. But when she was rubbing on Santana's clit for what seemed like forever, asking her for the third time to tell her how she wanted to be fucked (with Santana _kind of _unable to say anything, what with being seconds away from coming all over Rachel's hand with every single piece of clothing still on), and she had the nerve to just sigh and say, "Nevermind. If you can't do it, I'll just have to accept that"...? _Hell no. _

She can't stop thinking about Rachel's shady tactics. She's not sure what's more infuriating–that Rach would stoop to such a level knowing _exactly _what she was doing, or that it was fucking working. Seriously. _Bitch_. Santana Lopez not able to do something sexually? Absurd. Fucking bullshit. Oh, she could _do_ it. Game on, Berry. Santana started to really examine their encounters and was determined to nail down what exactly her fucking hold up was. She realized that Rachel just wanted _Santana _to talk. Rachel wanted her to talk about what _she_ wanted. Santana had no qualms about letting her wants be known. Except, up until this point, Rachel had the unfair advantage. First, Rachel has spent her entire life talking until people's ears bleed and making all of her wants known to the universe. This is new for Santana; she's an athlete–she just needs to warm up before the big game. Also, Rachel had been in control whenever she wanted Santana to talk, and she always asked Santana when all the blood in her brain had traveled south. Clearly not prime word-making conditions. Now, she knows Rachel's game. And it is most definitely on. She just needs to wait for the right time. Like, preferably after finals.

*.*.*

She doesn't even know that it's the right time until it is. While she's getting ready for Kurt's holiday party, she gets a text from Rachel apologizing profusely, saying that rehearsal ran late and she was just leaving now, and that she would meet her there. Santana's slightly disappointed that they won't be able to get a quickie in before the party (because her dress is fucking _smokin'_ and she knows Rachel won't be able to keep her hands off her ass), and her thumb pauses in its automatic "okay" reply. She deletes it, and instead types out, "_Your loss. I had pre-game plans. ;)_"

Judging by the "_Aw. Well, make sure I catch up when I get to the party."_ she receives back, she figures Rachel really must be frazzled. Instead of being disappointed at the misunderstanding, Santana just chuckles to herself because Rachel has _no idea_ what she has in store. And she'll catch up, all right.

She gets to Kurt's apartment before anyone else. After exchanging air kisses with Kurt, he thrusts a shot glass into her hand. Kurt raises his to toast, "to the first annual Hummel Holiday Gala!" She tips her glass against his, then pounds it back, appreciating the lack of caustic burn she was expecting. He really went all out on the liquor for this party. Point: Hummel. She shrugs off her coat and he whistles appreciatively at her dress. The knee length white strapless number is comfortable but snug in all the perfect places. Classy, yet fuckable.

"That dress looks amazing on you, Satan. I would almost believe there was a bit of angel in there somewhere. And not a fallen one, either. That reminds me, I saw this dress today that was made for you," Kurt gushes.

There's a knock at the door before Santana can make him swear on his life that he'll make good on that. She doesn't benefit from his internship at _Vogue_ nearly enough. She makes a mental note to remind him of his promise later that week as she saunters into the kitchen to make herself a tequila sunrise that she plans to nurse for most of the night, at least until Rachel gets there. She doesn't want to risk getting too drunk, what with her big plans for the evening and all.

Half her sunrise later, some classmate of Kurt's is droning on and on about his love for ascots, and she wishes she could just drain her glass so she can at least get a happy buzz going through her boredom. She doesn't understand fashion students. Of course, FIT is the perfect fit (ha!) for Kurt, but some of these people are just boring as fuck. She's mid-prayer to _La Virgen_ that Rachel hurries the hell up when she notices the door fly open. The moisture in Santana's mouth evaporates yet increases at the same time (_how!?_) at the sight of her girlfriend. Her hair is up in a ponytail, something she doesn't often do. Santana licks her lips at the sight of her tan, toned shoulders, and thanks whatever deity is listening for the dress she's wearing. She had mentioned a couple weeks back that she had "gotten a couple of new things," but refused to show Santana because "sometimes patience can be rewarding." Santana hates it when Rachel's right. She had apparently bought a black halter top dress with an asymmetrical hemline that starts at mid-thigh and ends by her calf. Santana's breath catches at the sight of the black T-strap Louboutins that she can only assume Kurt let her borrow from the _Vogue _vault (Santana made a mental note to rip Kurt a new one for not sharing more often). She clears her throat so she doesn't do something embarrassing like start drooling when she's supposed to be engrossed in conversation.

Rachel hasn't seen her yet, since she's making her way through the crowd by chatting with practically everyone she comes across. She's not sure if Rachel even knows half these people, but she sure knows how to work a room. Santana cuts across to the kitchen and pours Rachel some wine, knowing she's gonna need it. Rachel's standing right outside the kitchen with her back to Santana, talking with Kurt and a couple more of his classmates. Santana sidles up behind her, placing one hand on Rachel's hip. She leans forward and whispers into Rachel's ear, "You were right; this dress is definitely a reward." She can practically hear Rachel's shy grin spread across her face. She kisses Rachel just below her ear before adding, "You look fucking amazing right now."

Rachel turns her head towards Santana, smiling into the sweet kiss she places on Santana's lips. "Hi, baby. Sorry I'm late."

"S'okay. You can make it up to me later." Santana winks as she slides her arm around Rachel's waist and hands her the wine glass.

Rachel sighs, taking a sip before breathing, "Oh, you are a goddess. Thank you."

"Wow, a goddess, huh? Well, I do plan on taking you to church later tonight."

The glass is half-way to Rachel's lips for another sip when she snickers. Kurt's head snaps toward the sound and his eyes dart between the two of them. A small smile is teasing at the corner of Rachel's mouth and she narrows her eyes at Santana. "What… does that even mean?"

Santana smirks, and leans in close to whisper into Rachel's ear. "It means… that later on, you are going to be on your knees, begging and praying that I make you come." She grins at Rachel's sharp intake of breath, and kisses her cheek. "I'm gonna go mingle. Enjoy the party." She swats Rachel on her ass before spotting a woman with multiple facial piercings talking to a guy that vaguely reminds her of Artie, but with closely-cropped hair and working legs. She makes her way toward them, deliberately swishing her hips as she feels Rachel's eyes on her ass.

She actually enjoys talking with the two (Summer and Joseph, she learns), but she keeps an eye on Rachel. Occasionally she catches her staring, to which she just raises an eyebrow, making Rachel blush. It's so fucking adorable, and it turns Santana on at just how easy it is to do that to her. Throughout the night, she takes every opportunity to whisper sweet (well, mostly not-so-sweet) nothings into Rachel's ear.

"_I can't wait to kiss you up against our apartment door."_

"_Your tits look amazing right now. My hands are itching to feel you and pinch your nipples through your dress."_

"_I wish I could slide my hand up your thigh, under your dress, and feel how hot your pussy is right here, right now."_

Rachel doesn't reply to any of what she says. Santana lingers long enough to catch the response–either a rough exhale and/or the flutter of her eyelids and flush of her cheeks–before continuing on to wherever she's headed at that moment, smug and more than a little aroused by it, herself.

Santana leaves the bathroom and finds Rachel talking with Summer and Joseph. She greets them and they all chat for a few minutes before she excuses herself to make another drink. As she turns to leave, she leans into Rachel. "I hope you can keep those shoes because I want them to be the only thing you're wearing when you ride my face." Santana doesn't wait for Rachel's reaction and starts walking toward the kitchen. But she does catch Rachel's choked out cough and hears her clearing her throat. Summer asks if she's okay, and Santana turns just to make sure she didn't kill her. Rachel nods emphatically, waving it off, so Santana continues to the kitchen.

When she emerges, Summer and Joseph are now talking with Kurt, and Rachel is nowhere to be seen. Santana chuckles to herself, assuming Rachel headed for the bathroom, probably to clean up a bit.

"What are you smiling about?" Kurt asks as she joins them.

"Uh… obviously about this _great_ party. Great party, Kurt." Santana clinks her glass against Kurt's before taking a sip.

"Riiiight. And it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that you've been whispering naughty things into Rachel's ear all night."

Santana snorts into her drink, licking a drop off her lip that lingers when she lowers the glass. "Mmm, well. I mean, can you blame me? Look at my girl. Naughty things need to be done." She grins wolfishly and wags her eyebrows, and Summer and Joseph try to suppress their giggles at the disgusted look on Kurt's face.

"I'm just glad I moved out before you two started doing…" Kurt shudders before he can finish the statement. He looks over Santana's shoulder, his brow scrunching in confusion. "Leaving already?"

Santana follows his line of sight to see Rachel approach the group with their coats. She presses her lips together in an attempt to contain her smile.

"Um, yes. Thank you _so_ much for the amazing party, Kurt. We had a great time." Rachel hugs Kurt, kissing him on both cheeks. "It was so great to meet you both, but Santana and I need to get home now." Rachel offers a curt nod, offering Santana her coat in exchange for the mostly-full glass.

Santana makes the exchange, turning from Rachel back to the group, eyebrow raised. "Well, you heard the woman. Nice to meet you. Lady Hummel." She and Kurt exchange air kisses and she waves at the other two as Rachel tugs on her arm toward the door.

"Why are you in such a rush to get home, Rach? Something the matter?" Santana asks, smug grin firmly in place.

As soon as they're alone in the hallway, Rachel slams Santana against the wall, kissing her soundly. Santana grins, angling her head to deepen the kiss. She moans almost too loudly when she feels Rachel's tongue slide against her own. After a few moments, Rachel breaks the kiss in a gasp.

"You know _exactly_ why I want to leave," Rachel pants, staring intently into Santana's eyes.

"Oh? What exactly was it that tipped you over, Rach? The idea of me feeling you up in the middle of the party? Or you riding my face?"

Rachel groans, kissing Santana more roughly this time, teeth pulling at her bottom lip. She lets go of her lip with a pop, and pulls a dazed Santana toward the stairs.

Santana growls, "Fuck the subway. We're taking a cab."

*.*.*

Somehow, one of them is able to unlock the door, open it, and maneuver themselves into the apartment without dislodging their lips.

Generally, Santana can multi-task. It's what she thinks makes her a good dancing waitress. Dance, sing, refill drinks. She's got that down. But right now? Right now, she's having a bit of trouble concentrating on removing her own dress and shoes while helping Rachel unzip hers, hissing a reminder to her about leaving those fuck-me heels on, and marveling at how fantastic a kisser Rachel is. Santana chuckles at Rachel's whine when she breaks their kiss to pull her dress over her head, and then at her growl as she fumbles with the clasp of her own bra.

"Someone's eager. If I had realized my talking would do _this_ to you, I would've gotten my shit together a long fucking time ago."

Rachel pulls Santana's head back to her, resuming their heated embrace, mumbling into the kiss, "You have _no_ idea." She scratches along Santana's neck and shoulders to her hands, bringing them around her so the other girl can grasp her ass, then hops up to wrap her legs around Santana's waist.

"Judging by how fucking soaked you are already, I think I have an idea," Santana husks, kissing a trail across the other woman's jaw, sucking and nipping at her earlobe. Rachel bites her lip as Santana kneads Rachel's ass, pulling her closer.

"God, Rach," Santana breathes into Rachel's ear. "I can't wait to taste you. I bet you're gonna come so fucking quick for me, baby." Santana groans at the feel of Rachel's 4-inch heels digging into her back as Rachel attempts to add _some_ pressure to her engorged clit.

Santana stumbles toward their room, their momentum causing her to slam Rachel against their bedroom door with a bit more force than she means to. Rachel dismounts from Santana, placing her feet unsteadily back on the floor, her hands resting on Santana's shoulders.

"Shit, you okay?"

"M'fine. Just touch me," Rachel says breathlessly, pulling Santana by the back of her neck, crushing their lips together again.

Santana has to crane her head upwards to accommodate for the difference in height now that she's shed her shoes. She breaks their kiss to tease, "Well, this is weird. Oompa got a growth spurt. 'Sokay. Easier access to your goodies." Rachel doesn't have a chance to scold Santana for almost ruining the mood before Santana bites her nipple and soothes it with the flat of her tongue, her hand palming Rachel's other breast.

Rachel hisses, arching her back into Santana's mouth, her hands gripping Santana's hips. She slides her thigh between the other woman's legs, pulling her impossibly closer. Santana gasps, her eyes slipping closed as she instinctively grinds against Rachel, exhaling a low moan.

Rachel grins slyly, humming, "Mm, I do love these shoes. Easier access to _both_ our goodies."

"Can't argue with that." Santana moves her own thigh between Rachel's, intertwining their legs as best she can while standing up against a door, each woman rolling her hips against the other's leg. A sharp nip at Santana's neck reminds her of her goal, and she finds the doorknob and pushes the door open into their room. They tumble onto the bed, Santana landing on top of Rachel with a soft _oof_.

Santana's knees settle on either side of Rachel's hips, her center pressing desperately into Rachel. A low growl forces Santana's gaze up to Rachel's face. Rachel's eyes are focused where Santana is rubbing into her belly, her mouth agape, and her breath coming in short rasps. Rachel's hands on her hips, she guides them more firmly into her. Santana throws her head back, caught between wanting to savor the obvious effect she's having on Rachel and the tension rapidly building in her lower belly. She palms Rachel's breasts, squeezing them firmly, and loving how hard Rachel's nipples are. She leans down, licking that spot behind Rachel's ear she loves so much.

Rachel's breath hitches, and Santana pulls back, waiting for her to look up at her before purring, "Mmm, God, I want you so bad, baby." Her voice shakes a little as she struggles to keep it steady, to continue the act that she's in control. "But I can't decide exactly how I want you. So, do you want me to come in your mouth or on your fingers?"

"Oh, _fuck_," Rachel wheezes.

Santana lets out a surprised moan as Rachel's hips thrust upwards into her, her hands gripping Santana's hips tighter, pulling Santana down onto herself. Santana bites her lip in an effort to not get carried away, but her eyes roll back at Rachel's new pace and her lace underwear adding delicious pressure against her clit.

Rachel groans at the dampness seeping through the other woman's panties. Santana kisses her sweetly, never breaking eye contact. She pulls away just far enough that she can speak, their lips still grazing when Santana whispers, "Well? What's it gonna be? Use your words, baby." Santana can taste sweet victory with the glare Rachel sears into her.

Rachel growls, flipping them over so that Santana is on her back with Rachel between her legs.

"Now, didn't you say something about me wearing these shoes while I ride your face?"

Santana nods dumbly, slightly unsure, but mostly uncaring, as to how Rachel is topping her _again_.

"I don't see anything wrong with us both getting what we want."

Santana swallows, and rasps, "And what do you want?"

"I want you to come in my mouth… AND on my fingers. Because you have been a very, _very_ naughty girl tonight. And I fucking love you for it. Now, enough talking."

Rachel crawls up Santana's body and turns around to face her legs. Santana hooks her arms around Rachel's thighs as she lowers herself onto Santana's face. Santana's eyes go wide, whispering, "_Fuck_," at how wet Rachel is (and also, when the hell did she take her panties off?). She clenches her thighs together to ease the ache between them. Rachel shudders above her as Santana licks a stripe through her slit, her tongue settling lightly on Rachel's clit.

Santana's eyelids flutter as she savors the first, sweet taste of her girlfriend. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a flash of red and black. She moves one hand down to feel the smooth leather against the softness of Rachel's foot, and she decides right there that Rachel is totally borrowing these shoes again. Or Santana will just sell her soul to Kurt. Or _Vogue_. Or both.

She moans into Rachel's pussy, broken from her appreciation of the Louboutins as Rachel wastes no time pulling her panties down to her knees and licking expertly at Santana's clit. Santana's committed to making Rachel come first (because otherwise all her work would have been for nothing), and is a little pissed that she's _this_ close to coming on Rachel's tongue already. So, she gets her ass in gear and matches Rachel's pace, her arms shifting to rake her nails down Rachel's back before gripping her just above her ass, pulling her closer to her tongue.

Even though she's trying to put off her orgasm just a little while longer, she almost pulls away from Rachel to ask what the _hell _she thinks she's doing lifting off Santana's clit when the other woman's body goes rigid above her. Santana increases the pressure and speed of her tongue on Rachel's clit, holding steadfastly to her hips as she shakes with the force of her orgasm and lets out a gasping moan, the combination of which almost makes Santana come. She slows the pace of her licking, lapping gently at Rachel to help ease her from her orgasm. With one last shiver, Rachel lifts off of Santana, bending down to devour Santana's mouth with her own, mewling at the taste of herself on her girlfriend's tongue.

Rachel gives Santana one last peck before resettling herself between her legs. "Now that you got what you want," she starts, one finger traveling up and down Santana's dripping pussy. "Time to get what I want," she continues, her voice like pure sex and desire.

Santana gapes, unable to form any words as she nods, her fists clutching the fabric of their bedspread. Her head tilts back and her back bows, her legs spreading wider to accommodate Rachel as she leans forward and resumes her earlier ministrations. Santana sighs in relief, her breath catching when Rachel slides two fingers into her and immediately curls them upwards. Santana sucks in a sharp breath, exhaling a loud groan before exclaiming, "Fuuuuuuck!" as she comes.

Rachel lifts her head to look at Santana, her fingers slowing as she coaxes her through her orgasm. She sidles up next to her, kissing her lightly on her shoulder. Santana's body relaxes, her eyes closed and a smile on her face. She shudders one last time when Rachel removes her fingers.

Rachel kisses her gently on the mouth, her chin, her cheek, and whispers, "Now, see? That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Santana's head snaps toward Rachel, her eyes slitting dangerously as she grits out, "I hate you."

Rachel grins. "No, you dont."


End file.
